Sometimes the Dragon Wins
by Ekat
Summary: Methos has one of "those" days


Title: Sometimes the Dragon Wins

Title: Sometimes the Dragon Wins

Author: Ekat

Rating: PG-13 (for language)

Summary: Methos has one of "those" days.

Disclaimer: I don't own him. The events are loosely based on events that have been occurring to me recently.

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Methos stretched as consciousness slowly clawed its way into his brain. He groaned as a beam of sunlight made it's way through the vertical blinds and danced against his pupils. Turning his head to avoid the blinding light, he spotted the small alarm clock next to his bed. Bright red numbers indicated the time: 7:20.

"Shit!" he exclaimed as he jumped. Rather than freeing himself of the blankets in his haste to escape the confines of the bed, he managed to get his feet entangled in the covers and fell face first to the floor. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Meeting starts in ten minutes. Shit. Shit. Shit," he chanted as he kicked himself free and began rummaging for clean clothes.

"How the hell did I managed to sleep in? I set the alarm clock," he asked himself as he fought with a sweater that seemed determined not to go onto his body. He pulled on a pair of khaki pants and sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on his shoes. Curiosity got the better of him and he reached over and pushed the alarm set button. Immediately the number 6:00 shown. However, what Methos has failed to notice when he set the alarm the night before was that the little light next to "PM" was on. He had indeed set the alarm to go off at 6:00. It was just set for 6:00 PM.

Grumbling to himself he made his way into the kitchen. He reached above the sink for his travel coffee mug. As he touched it, it bumped into one of the other coffee mugs in the cupboard, sending the ceramic mug crashing into the sink. Bits and pieces of exploded mug went everywhere. "Shit!" he exclaimed. "I'll deal with it when I get home," he told himself as he returned to pouring himself a cup of coffee to go.

He secured the lid onto the mug, grabbed his keys and raced out of the apartment. Rather than wait for the ancient elevator, Methos opted for the quicker route of decent to the first floor by taking the stairs. As his ran down the stairs his foot hit a small patch of water on the third stair down, causing him to loose his balance and bounce down the flight on his back. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow," he cried as his tailbone made contact with every stair. When he finally came to a stop, he sat up. He stared at his coffee mug. Miraculously he had managed to not spill a drop of it. "Well, at least I have that going for me," he said as he stood up and exited the stair well. 

Methos managed to make it out of his apartment building without further incident. When he reached his SUV he noticed something flapping under the windshield wiper. Pulling the piece of paper free he saw that he had received a parking ticket. He looked up at the lamppost he had parked under to see that he had indeed parked on the wrong side of the road the night before. "Who ever came up with alternate side parking should be shot," he grumbled as he unlocked the vehicle and got in. Carefully he placed his coffee in the cup holder before starting the car and heading for work.

He drove as fast as he could down the busy neighborhood streets. As he approached an intersection, he noticed a red sedan barreling backwards down a driveway. Methos swerved to avoid being broadsided by the car. As the vehicle swung around the other, he watched as his coffee mug, from which he had not yet had a chance to drink, wobble and fall out of the cup holder and plummet into the passenger side footwell. The lid came loose and the entire contents of the cup spilled out. "Fuck!" he screamed to no one. He had to fight back the urge to throw the car into park and go tell the idiot driving the red sedan exactly what he was feeling. The only thing that kept him from giving into the desire was the knowledge that if he did, he would be even more late for the departmental meeting.

He eventually found himself in the faculty parking lot of Seacouver University. Methos once again found himself muttering about his luck, as he parked the car in the only available space left… the one furthest from the building. He threw the car into park, shut off the ignition and leaned over to retrieve the overturned coffee mug. As he suspected, there was nothing left of his caffeine source. With a sigh, and some colorful Aramaic phrases, he got out of the vehicle and jogged into the building.

As he approached the conference room, he could hear the director of the languages department lecturing the staff at the top of his lungs. Methos steeled himself and walked into the room.

"Professor Pierson, so good of you to join us," Dr. Nemetz said to him as he sat down. The director did not bother to keep his annoyance out of his voice.

Methos looked up at him, carefully schooling his face into an expression of supplication and meekness. "Sorry I'm late," he said softly.

"As I was saying before Mr. Pierson deigned to grace us with his presence," Dr. Nemetz continued, "this department has become the laughing stock of the entire academic community on this campus." Methos tried to pay attention as the director droned on and on about enrollment numbers and cost effectiveness, but he eventually found his thoughts drifting away from the meeting.

By the end of the meeting, the spot right between his eyes was pounding from lack of caffeine. He wandered back to his car to drive over to the local coffee shop. He reached into his pockets to fetch his keys only to discover that they were not there. Panic began to rise as he patted down every inch of his clothing for them. He looked into the car and groaned loudly as he saw them dangling from the ignition. Cursing in seven dead languages he stomped over to the blue campus safety phones to ask for one of the rent-a-cops to come let him into his vehicle.

"I'm sorry, sir," an all too chipper voice said on the other line. "But our officers are not allowed to open peoples vehicles. Insurance liabilities and all."

"What? You're saying that you won't do it because you're afraid I'll sue you if one of your guys messes up my locking mechanisms?" he asked, his frustration barely kept in check.

"That's pretty much the gist of it sir."

"Then can you do me a favor and call the Automobile Association for me to send a tow truck so that *they* can let me into my car?"

"I'm sorry, I can't do that either sir. It's against regulations."

"Of course it is," Methos snarled. "Thank you. You have been most unhelpful." He slammed the receiver down and forcefully shut the cover of the blue box surrounding the phone.

Methos made his way back to the academic building to find a phone. The only pay phone he could find was out of order. "Great, just great," he muttered as he walked up the flight of stairs to his department's secretary's office.

"Adam," Martha exclaimed as he threw open the door. "What's the matter dear, you look a fright?" He looked up at her. She visibly swallowed and paled at his expression. He realized that he must be glowering at her and forced himself to soften his expression.

"I'm having a bad day. I was late for the meeting this morning and now I just realized I locked my keys in my car. Can I borrow your phone to call for help?"

"Oh certainly," she said moving her phone for him to reach it. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

"A cup of coffee would be wonderful," he said as he fished his wallet out of his pocket and began searching for his Automobile Association membership card.

"Ick," she said drawing her face into an expression of disgust. "Never touch the stuff. I have herbal tea and water."

"No thank you," he said as he picked up the phone and dialed the number for roadside emergencies. After pressing more buttons as he navigated through the automated telephone system he finally managed to talk to a living being.

"Roadside emergency, this is Andrea, may I have your name please?" a woman answered in the flat affect of someone who is not really interested in her work.

"Yes, my name is Adam Pierson."

"Could you spell your last name sir?"

"P-i-e-r-s-o-n."

"Are you still residing at 20 Elm Street, apartment number four?" 

"Yes." He rolled his eyes as he answered the customer service rep's questions. Martha giggled. 

"And what is the nature of your emergency, Mr. Pierson?"

"The nature of the emergency is that I have managed to lock my keys in my car." 

"Is the vehicle running?"

"No," he answered immediately. "Wait a minute, if I say it is, will that get you guys here any faster?" 

The lady on the other end of the line laughed. "Not after you said no."

"Well, it was worth a try," he murmured.

"Where is your vehicle located?"

"The faculty parking next to the humanities building at Seacouver University."

"Did you try calling safety before calling us, sir."

"Of course I did," he snapped at her. "They said they don't do lock out and to call you."

"Where in the parking lot is your vehicle located?" Andrea asked, totally unfazed by his outburst.

"The farthest spot from the building."

"What is the make and model of your vehicle?"

"I have a 1999 GMC Jimmy."

"What color?"

"Black," he snarled. The throbbing between his eyes was getting worse.

"I have logged in your request. A tow truck should be there in about forty-five minute."

"Thank you," he said and hung up the phone. He cursed again in ancient Egyptian. He looked up to see Martha looking up at him. Her warm brown eyes held concern. "It's going to be at least forty-five minutes before they can get here. I'm going to go search for some coffee and wait for them. Thanks for letting me use your phone."

She smiled up at him. "Not a problem. Anytime." Methos waved goodbye to her and left the office. 

He crossed the campus to the small student union. He got in line at the cafeteria and made his way to the beverages. A small sign was taped to the coffee maker. "Coffee is temporarily on back-order. Sorry for the inconvenience." He stood there staring at the sign for a full minute, his brain refusing to comprehend the writing. It wasn't until a student behind him cleared his throat that Methos realized that he was holding up the line. He sighed in resignation and left the cafeteria and wandered back to his car to wait for the tow truck.

Two hours later, the tow truck arrived. Twenty-minutes after that, Al (or so his shirt said), the tow truck operator, finally managed to pick the correct piece of bent wire out of his tool kit and coerced the lock to release. Methos didn't wait to thank Al for his help. He climbed into the car, started it and pulled out of the parking lot and headed straight for the nearest coffee shop.

The little shop was packed with twenty-something people. Methos hated these trendy places, but at this point he needed coffee and he needed it now. He eventually made his way to the counter, placed his order, paid and then had to wait another five minutes while the "new girl" was shown how to brew more java. Once he got his liquid caffeine he added the necessary amounts of sugar and cream and headed for the door.

Once outside and away from the bustling mob of coffee addicts, he took a long, slow drink of his coffee. He savored the slightly bitter taste and the warm caress is gave his throat as it went down.

He sighed a happy sigh as he finished the cup. As he thew the now empty cup away, he noticed that his car was sitting at an odd angle. It was leaning towards the rear passenger side. Curious as to what could be causing it, he walked over and looked down. The tire was flat. Methos sighed in defeat.

He opened the back of the SUV, wrestled the full-sized spare tire out and to the ground, fetched the jack and lug wrench and set to work on changing the tire. He ended up having to jump up and down on the lug wrench to loosen the bolts enough to remove the flat tire. What he found more annoying than the fact that he had blown a tire was the fact that he had gathered a little audience as he jumped up and down on the wrench, but not one person offered to assist him.

What seemed like hours later, though his watch told him only 15 minutes had elapsed, the tire was changed. He put the flat in the back of his car, threw in the jack and wrench, and headed for the local tire repair place to see about replacing or fixing the flat.

Shortly after getting onto the expressway, he heard a loud bang and his car began to shake. "This is NOT happening," he cried as he carefully guided the car to the shoulder of the road. When the vehicle stopped, he shut it off, turned on his hazards, brought both hands to the top of the steering wheel, placed his forehead against his hands and fought back the intense urge either fly into a homicidal rage or to cry.

When he was sure that he was in control of his emotions, he got out of the car, after making sure that the coast was clear, and went to look at his car. He shook his head when he saw the cause of the bang. The spare tire he had just put on the car was flat. He reached up and began to rub between his eyes. The throbbing was back.

He opened the passenger side door of his car to retrieve his cell phone from the glove compartment. It wasn't there. He groaned as he remembered that he had brought it into his apartment the night before to charge the battery. He slammed the door shut and leaned against the guardrail of the expressway, trying to figure out what to do.

About ten minutes later a state trooper pulled up behind his car. A tall, blond police officer got out of the car and cautiously approached him. He smiled up at her. She was a strikingly handsome woman and blue was definitely her color.

"What's the problem?" she asked him, looking down at the dead tire. *Why do they always ask questions to which the answer is obvious? * he asked himself.

"I got a flat tire. I put the spare on. I blew the spare," he explained flatly, looking down at the offending tire.

The officer looked up at him quizzically. "How long ago did you put on the spare?"

Methos looked down at his watch. "Fifteen minutes," he groaned. "I was on my way to go get the tire I just blew repaired when I blew the spare." The officer laughed. Methos had to remind himself that killing a police officer would be a bad thing. He knew that if it had been anyone but him, he would have found the situations amusing as well, but her laughing at him was not making his day any better. "So the answer to your unasked question is, no, I have not been riding around on the spare for days instead of getting the real one fixed. I have been driving on the spare for a whole whopping fifteen minutes."

"Do you belong to an auto club?" she asked.

"Yes I do, but I left my cell phone at home so I haven't been able to call them."

She smiled at him. "This just isn't your day is it?"

"You have no idea," he sighed.

"Well, if you give me your membership card, I'll call the auto club for you."

"Oh, thank you," he said as he fetched his wallet and handed her his membership card.

"That's what I'm here for Mr., " she looked down at his card, "Pierson. If you would like to have a seat back in your vehicle, I'll make the call." Methos nodded and returned to the confines of his car.

Another forty-five minutes passed before the tow truck came to his rescue. He recounted his tale again to the tow truck operator, who, like the officer, laughed at his predicament. He then had to endure listening to the guy talk about all the strange stuff he's heard of in his line of work as they took his car to the garage to be fixed.

Methos couldn't help but laugh in frustration when the garage owner told him that they didn't carry tires large enough for his car. "Can you find a place that does and get one delivered?" he asked the guy.

"Oh sure. Are you sure you want to wait though?" the owner asked.

"It's not exactly like I got any other options, do I? After all, I don't live around here and therefore can't walk home. Just get me a new tire," he hissed, all the while glaring at the man.

"Right away, sir," the owner said and went to go make calls to get a tire.

Three hours and $150 later, Methos left with a new tire and a new spare. He knew he had paid too much for the tires but he didn't care any more. All he wanted to do was go to Joe's and get a beer and then go home and forget this day ever happened.

Methos walked into Joe's at the height of happy hour. He glowered at the crowd of people as he made his way to his stool at the bar. Joe looked up at him and the smile that had been on the Watcher's lips vanished. Instantly he produced a cold bottle of beer and set it down before the ancient Immortal.

"I'm not even going to ask," Joe said. "You look like you went through the gauntlet and I'm not really sure if you survived."

"You and me both. I don't know who in the cosmos I ticked off, but I'm sure as hell sorry for it." He took a long drink of his beer.

Just as he finished the bottle, Methos' head tingled with an Immortal presence as Duncan MacLeod walked into the bar. The Scot was filthy. His hands were caked in dirt and there was a black smudge on his right cheek. Methos' heart grew lighter when he realized that his friend must have had a bad day as well and he would have someone to commiserate with.

"What happened to you?" Joe asked as Mac sat down.

"Yeah, you look like something the cat dragged in," Methos commented.

Duncan smiled at both of them. He turned to Methos and gave him is patented "I told you so" looks. "You know how you are always preaching the virtue of looking out for number one? Well, sometimes its pays to be a nice guy."

"Why what happened?" Methos didn't like the turn the conversation was taking. It was becoming obvious that Mac was not having as bad a day as he had hoped.

"One my way over here I saw this woman on the side of the road trying to change a flat tire," Duncan explained as he took a napkin and tried to rid his hands of some of the grime. While he wasn't looking, Methos glared at him. "Well I stopped to help her. As a thank you, she insisted on taking me out to dinner tonight."

Methos hung his head and groaned. Not only was Duncan not having a bad day, he lived up to his standard role of the perpetual boy scout, AND managed to get a free meal out of it. 

Duncan looked over at his friend, concern written in his eyes. "You ok?"

Methos looked up at him and shrugged. "I've got a headache. I think I'm going to go home." He stood up as he finished his second bottle of beer. "I'll catch you guys later."

With that he walked out of the bar.

Before climbing back into his car, he stopped at Mac's Thunderbird. With a wicked smile, he leaned over and let the air out of one of the tires. Feeling much better, Methos got in his car and headed home.

*end*


End file.
